Chapter 8 - The Eviction
At four-fifteen that afternoon, the iron gates of the DeLuca estate swung open to admit three black executive SUVs and a moving van.
Frank Rossi and eight security officers in tailored dark suits took positions in the grand foyer, their presence commanding, silent, and efficient. Corporate counsel David Klein sat at the dining room table, laying out formal eviction notices, asset freeze declarations, and non-disclosure enforcement orders.
Paola stood by the grand entrance, frantically shoving designer coats, jewelry boxes, and her daughters' unwrapped Christmas gifts into luggage bags. Sofia and Emma were crying in the background, confused and frightened by the sudden upheaval.
"Mauricio, please," Paola begged, grabbing my coat sleeve as I walked down the grand staircase holding Renata’s hand. "Where are we supposed to go? The banks are closed today! My credit cards are tied to the family account!"
"Your private townhome in Boston is registered in your personal name," I answered without stopping. "You have twenty thousand dollars in your personal savings account. You can learn how to manage a budget, Paola. And you can teach your daughters that family value isn't measured in diamond bracelets."
I turned to Frank. "Ensure Ms. Paola and her children are escorted to the train station. Have two drivers transport their luggage."
"Yes, Mr. DeLuca," Frank acknowledged with a crisp nod.
Upstairs, my mother Carmen was being assisted by the estate staff as she packed her vintage trunks. She walked down the curved staircase slowly, looking ten years older. The imperious matriarch who had ruled high society with an iron fist had been completely hollowed out.
She stopped in front of me, her eyes red-rimmed, staring at Renata, who was dressed in a clean, dry ivory cashmere sweater and a warm red velvet skirt I had fetched from her nursery.
"You will regret this, Mauricio," Carmen whispered, her voice trembling with bitter, dying spite. "A child cannot replace your bloodline."
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"Renata is our bloodline, Carmen," I answered softly, looking her dead in the eye. "She is the best part of Lorenzo. The only tragedy is that you were too blind and too greedy to ever see it."
Antonio walked past without saying a single word. He didn't look at me, he didn't look at Renata, and he didn't look back at the grand stone manor he had occupied for half a century. He climbed into the back of the waiting sedan, followed by Carmen, and the heavy iron gates clicked shut behind them.
